


A Wanted Love

by The Neon Gang (clgfanfic)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Old West, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/The%20Neon%20Gang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bounty hunter has Chris and Vin on the run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wanted Love

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Seven Card Stud #9. This is the slash version of the M7 gen story "A Wanted Man." This story was originally written as an Alias Smith and Jones fic and re-written into the M7 world.

          Chris Larabee slid from his saddle and ran clumsily through the snow to the closed barn doors, pulling them open with a single strong heave.  Leading Pony and Peso inside, he was comforted a little by the welcoming nickers from the other horses standing in their stalls, heads up and ears pricked forward to watch the intruders.  Hastening back to the doors, he watched the short, rapid puffs of white that formed as he panted in the cold night air and hoped it would warm up a little once they were closed.

          That done, he hurried back to Peso.  "Can you get down?" he asked the rider.

          Vin Tanner nodded once and tried to ease his leg over so he could dismount, but a sudden fiery stab of agony in his side put an end to that.  "Guess I can't after all," he gasped, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

          Larabee reached up and gently pulled the trembling man off his winded gelding with as much care as he could manage, but the tracker still groaned as he slumped in the gunslinger's arms, too weak to even get his feet under himself to stand.

          "Easy, easy," Chris soothed as he held on to the younger man, keeping him from collapsing to the ground.  The blond shivered, although he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or from fear, and he felt Vin do the same.  They were damned lucky it hadn't started to snow earlier, or the bounty hunters tracking them would have caught them long before now.

          Half-carrying and half-dragging Vin across the barn, Chris settled the barely-conscious tracker in the soft, fresh hay he found piled in an empty stall.  When he had spotted the barn, it had looked like the best place to hole up for a while so he could change the makeshift bandages he'd applied earlier to try and stop Tanner's bleeding.  He just hoped no one in the house had noticed their arrival.  But it was late, and no lights had been visible at the nearby homestead.

          Chris's cold-numbed fingers shook slightly as he untied the blood-sodden strips of cloth, knowing as he did that Vin wouldn't be able to ride alone any farther in his current condition.

          _I'll tie him onto the saddle, or to me_ , the gunslinger thought, feeling the first stirrings of panic take hold of him.  Whatever was necessary, as long as they kept moving, or found some help.  At this point he'd be willing to turn Vin in himself, if that meant he got the medical help he so desperately needed.  He and the others could always break him out later, make a run for Mexico.  With the seven of them, they would be sure to make it, and at least then Vin would be alive.

          Vin grimaced and swallowed a groan while Larabee worked, his teeth occasionally chattering.  "Where?" he managed to ask, peering skittishly around the well-used structure.

          "Don't know for sure," Chris admitted.  He stood and fetched his canteen from where it was tied to his saddle, holding it for Vin to take a few sips.  "Some farmer's barn.  I was hoping to find a doctor, but the town's small from what I could make out, and those bounty hunters are only a few hours behind us.  I'll do what I can here and then we'll see if we can't get to town without being noticed."

          "'S no good, Chris.  Get me back on Peso an' let's get outta here."

          "You can't ride, the shape you're in," the gunslinger mumbled as he worked.  "This wound's come open again.  I've got to stop the bleeding or you'll be in real trouble."

          Vin gave his friend a tired but knowing grin.  "'M in trouble now, Cowboy.  Leave me here; head fer the hills.  If Timmons an' his men catch me, they'll count themselves lucky an' you'll have a chance t' get yerself safe.  Y' c'n come back an' bust me out.  Local jail shouldn't be a problem if the town's as small as y' think.  An' they won't be able t' move me far like this."

          "Quit talkin' so much, will ya?"  Chris reached up and tugged free the bandanna Vin wore around his neck.  The tracker's condition was dire, and Larabee was scared, more so than he expected.  An old familiar emptiness was beginning to fill his heart again, opening up like some bottomless abyss and threatening to topple him over the side.

          The gunslinger knew if he left Vin behind, he might as well kill the tracker himself before he rode off, because rumor had been proven fact as far as Larabee was concerned – Al Timmons didn't bother bringing a man in alive if he could get the same money for him dead.  And Vin knew it, too.  He was giving Chris a chance to save himself, at the cost of his own life.

          "The only way we're leaving here is together," Larabee said softly.  "We have to find someplace for you to rest, and a doctor.  You're not ready for another six or eight hours on the back of a horse."

          "Well, I should say _not_."

          Larabee spun, drawing his gun as he did.

          An older woman stared back at him.  She chuckled kindly, shaking her head. "Lands sake, boy, you're one of the fastest I've seen, and I've seen a few fast ones in my day, believe you me."

          Nettie Wells.  That's who she sounded like, even looked a little like her, too, and something told Larabee he could trust her just like he would Nettie.  She must live in the homestead, he realized.  He eased the Colt back into his holster, a slight blush coloring his already wind-reddened cheeks.  "Sorry, ma'am," he said.

          The woman walked over to Vin and knelt down beside him, peering critically at the two bleeding wounds.  She looked back at Chris, saying, "You bring him inside, son.  It's far too dirty out here for me to do anything for him."

          Larabee hesitated, torn between his immediate trust for the woman and the knowledge that it was only a matter of time before those bounty hunters narrowed down the barns he and Vin could have stopped at and found them.

          "I just need to bind him up so we can be on our way," he said.

          "Son, you move this boy before we stop his bleeding good and proper and you'll be stoppin' next t' bury him," she scolded, studying the indecision on Larabee's face.

          "She's right," Vin said, his airy voice ringing with defeat.  "Will y' listen t' me now an' get outta here while y' still c'n?"

          "Damn it, Vin, I'm not leaving you here alone," Chris snapped angrily.

          Tanner sighed heavily.  He could tell by Larabee's tone that there was no use arguing with the older man.  He'd made up his mind, and nothing short of an act of God would get him to change it.  _Damn stupid fool…_

          The woman eyed them curiously.  "You boys on the lam?"

          The two peacekeepers exchanged glances.  Chris shook his head, but Vin's expression turned equally stubborn.

          "'M wanted in Texas fer a murder I didn't do," Vin told her honestly.

          "That's the God's honest truth," Chris added.  "A real outlaw by the name of Eli Joe pinned it on him."

          "Are the men lookin' for you close by?" she asked them, frowning slightly.

          "Yes, ma'am, they are," Vin said, trying to sit up, but only getting as far as his elbows before his strength deserted him.  "We don't want t' put y' in any danger – you or yer family.  If y' could just tell us where the doc–"

          "Don't have a doctor in town, son.  The nearest one's in Animas, but I know for a fact Doc Harbor's out with the Indians right now.  Had an outbreak of typhoid on the reservation," she explained.  "Look, boys, I don't care if you're wanted or not, guilty or not.  If somethin' isn't done 'bout these wounds, this young man's going to die, and I hate to see a life wasted before it's really started."  She directed her comments to Larabee, who she knew would make the decision for both of them.  "You take him to the house and let me have a look.  The two of you can decide what to do while I work."

          Larabee thought a moment, then he met Vin's eyes and said, "We've got no choice."

          He gently helped Vin to his feet, supporting most of the smaller man's weight as they slowly followed the older woman back to the squat adobe farmhouse that was bigger than they expected.  Warmth enveloped the two men as soon as they entered and, for the first time since Vin had been shot, Chris allowed himself to hope for a miracle.

          The woman removed her long blue shawl, allowing Larabee his first good look at her.  In her late fifties, she possessed that special kind of beauty that didn't fade, no matter how old she grew.  The years of hard work she'd seen had left their marks on her, true, but they were badges of courage, perseverance and wisdom and he knew he'd made the right decision.

          "Get him up on the table and have him lay down," she instructed.

          "Ma'am?" Chris asked her.

          "Ya heard me right, the table.  I have to get those pieces of lead out of him, and that's the best place for me to do my work."  She smiled at the dubious expression on the gunslinger's face.  "Don't you worry none, I've done my share of doctorin' over the years; helped Doc Harbor too many times to count, so do as you're told now, y'hear?"

          "Yes, ma'am," Chris said, grinning just a little.  It had been many years since he'd been scolded like that by a woman.

          He lifted Vin onto the large, hand-hewn table.  As he did, he realized that there must be, or have been, a sizable family living here.  The fact that some or all of those people might still be in the house gave him a momentary start, and his gaze wandered nervously over the darkened doorways leading out of the kitchen.

          _No,_ he decided, _her children are probably all grown and married by now_.

          He watched her smooth back her gray-streaked brown hair, which was held up in a bun at the back of her head; definitely a handsome woman.  He tried to imagine what she would have looked like in her youth and found it a pleasant picture that reminded him of Sarah.  This might have been what she looked like if they'd lived to old age together.

          He felt the familiar stab of regret, but it didn't hurt as bad as it usually did.  Hadn't really, for a while now, something that had both saddened and worried him. Was he forgetting her?

          Walking over to a basin, the woman washed her hands, then turned pale blue eyes on Larabee and told him to do the same.

          While Chris washed up, the woman used a large pair of scissors to cut Vin's pants off.

          "Sorry 'bout your clothes, son," she told him as she worked.  "I have some of Ben's old things 'round here; should fit you when you're up to puttin' 'em on."

          "Yer son, ma'am?" Tanner asked with a grimace as she slowly peeled the blood-soaked pant leg off his thigh.  His long johns went the same way, and he blushed a deep red when she peeled them off as well, ashamed of his nakedness.

          "Sakes no.  Ben was my first husband," she said, ignoring his embarrassment – five sons, four daughters and numerous grandchildren left nothing for the imagination.  "Ben died… five years ago now."

          "Sorry t' hear that, ma'am," Vin said as she started investigating the wounds more closely, and the tone of his voice told her that he meant it.

          "Thank ya, son.  Ben was a fine man…  You favor him a little yourself."  She smiled and reached out to push the chestnut hair off Vin's sweat-dampened forehead.

          The tracker blushed again, this time right down to his toes.

          "You live alone here?" Chris asked her as he dried his hands.

          "You're a worrier, that's for certain," she told Larabee as she moved away from her patient to set a kettle of water on the woodstove to heat.  "I've remarried; went from a Trousdale to a Brush.  I'm Rachel Brush now.  Jim Brush is my husband.  I'm sure Ben would've approved, if he'd the chance to meet him."

          "Where's your husband now?" Chris asked casually, his hand dropping slightly toward his gun.

          "Jim's on a cattle drive, so you can quit bein' so all-fired jumpy," she scolded him as she brushed past.  "He and my boys won't be back for a few more days."

          Vin groaned, reaching for the wound just above the point of his right hip.  Mrs. Brush intercepted him, holding his hand firmly in hers as he squeezed and tossed on the table.  Chris quickly stepped up and took Vin's other hand in his and he could feel the fear that rippled through the tracker.

          As Vin quieted, the large teakettle began to whistle.

          "Make sure he doesn't touch either of those wounds," Mrs. Brush said.  "And see that you don't either."

          She grabbed a cloth and expertly wrapped it around the kettle handle with a flick of her wrist, then carried it and a bowl back to the table.  She filled the bowl with hot water, then returned the kettle to the other side of stove.

          "Get him out of that wet jacket and shirt," she instructed Chris, then left them alone, disappearing into one of the rooms off the kitchen.

          "Chris… y' gotta get… outta here… 'fore Timmons finds us," Vin panted.  "Yer nothin' but a… sittin' duck… here."

          "Damn it, Vin, I already told you how it was gonna be," Larabee replied, helping the man out of his jacket and shirt.  His ruined long johns came off last.  "Save your strength and quit tryin' to talk me into leaving."

          Vin grunted his acquiesce, knowing Chris wouldn't budge until he was certain he would be all right.  But the way he felt, Vin was afraid that might be after they'd buried him in the local graveyard.  "Damned… stubborn… cowboy…" he hissed through gritted teeth.

          "You're callin' me stubborn?" Chris replied, hoping some of that stubbornness would pull the tracker though this.  If they hadn't gotten careless…

          He shook his head.  There was no sense in looking back and wishing things were different.  The past several days had become nothing more than an endless nightmare of exhaustion and fear.  He needed to think ahead, but it was hard not to go over the events that had brought them to the Brush homestead.

          He and Vin had been tracking an outlaw gang that had been holding up the stagecoaches coming into and out of Four Corners and several other small towns in the Territory.  Two days in, the gang had split up, so the peacekeepers had done the same.  Chris and Vin had headed northeast.

          It took them a few days, but they finally caught up with the three bandits they had been following, and got the drop on them.  They took their prisoners into San Simon and turned them over to the sheriff there, then sent a telegram to Four Corners to let the others know that they had been successful and were on their way back.

          But a day out they ran into the bounty hunters, who must have spotted Vin in San Simon and recognized him from the wanted poster that had been put out for him.

          The three hunters had hounded them steadily, determined to collect on Vin's five hundred dollar bounty.  And every time they thought they had shaken their pursuers, the men reappeared again.  When Vin managed to get a good look at the lead rider through his spyglass, he identified the man as Al Timmons, and he had two Indian trackers with him.

          Chris and Vin had decided then to try heading up into the mountains, hoping to lose the three men in the rugged country around Chiricahua Peak.  But the hunters outguessed them, forcing them back toward the east.

          They hadn't slept any except what they could steal on horseback since they had left San Simon five days ago.  And it was the lack of food and sleep that had made them careless, allowing Timmons and the two trackers get the drop on them that morning.

          Timmons didn't seem interested in Chris at all, but Vin was another matter, and the tracker had taken two bullets before they could escape.

          They spent all morning using every trick Tanner knew to shake the three men off their trail.  By late afternoon it was snowing and Vin could barely hold himself in the saddle.  Chris had to admit that he had already been getting scared by then.

          Just an hour before Mrs. Brush had found them, they had topped a hill and spotted the small town and the outlying farms.  By then Chris had been desperate. He knew he had to find help somewhere among the residents, or his friend was going to die.

          He had picked one of the nearest barns at random and led Vin down to it, determined to locate a doctor if there was one hereabouts.  And, while there might not be a doctor here, he knew he'd picked the right barn.  If anyone could pull Vin through this, it was Mrs. Brush.  She had determination to spare, and that was just what he and Vin both needed right now.

          The woman returned the kitchen carrying a blanket and a small box that had obviously been made by inexperienced hands.  She set the box down and opened it, removing a small pair of scissors, a large needle and some stout thread, which she laid on the table next to the bowl of cooling water.  Then she closed the box and set it aside.

          Turning back, she covered Vin with the blanket to keep him from catching a chill.  Next was a stop at the handmade china cabinet setting against one wall of the room.  She brought back a pair of tweezers and a small knife.

          "You boys mind if I ask your names?  I like to know who I'm sharin' my roof with.  If ya don't want to, though, I'm not demandin'."

          "Chris Larabee," the gunslinger offered.  "And my friend's Vin Tanner.  Probably best if you don't know any more than that."

          She nodded.  It was hard to imagine that either of these men were outlaws, so she guessed the story she'd heard earlier was probably true – a good man accused of a crime he hadn't committed, and his friend.  Although she had to admit, Chris Larabee had an air of danger about him that made her think he lived dangerously, even if it was on the right side of the law.

          "Mr. Larabee, if you'd go pull down that big jug of corn whiskey and bring it over here," she instructed, nodding to a shelf near the stove.

          "It's Chris, ma'am," he said, going for the jug while she washed her hands again.

          "Pour a heavy dose of that whiskey into the bowl, then bring it over here to me," she called after him.

          Larabee did what she had asked.

          "Pour some over my hands," she told him when he joined her.  He gave her a questioning look, but did as she'd asked.  "Good.  Now, you wash your hands again, and pour some of the whisky over them, too, then come help me."

          "Sounds like a waste of good whiskey," he said under his breath.

          "It's a trick Doc Harbor showed me," she told him in a no nonsense tone.  "Don't know why it helps, but seems to keep the infection down, so I do it."

          Accepting her word, Chris washed his hands, then poured the whiskey over them before drying them on a towel.

          At the table where Vin lay, Mrs. Brush placed the instruments she had gathered into the hot water and whisky solution, even the thread, leaving them to soak while she took a cloth from her apron pocket and dipped it into the mixture.

          "This is gonna bite a bit, I'm afraid," she told Vin before she began to clean the blood away from around the entrance of the thigh wound first.

          The tracker sucked in a sharp breath, but after a while the biting sting of the whiskey seemed to numb the throbbing pain in his leg and he allowed himself to breathe again.

          "Lucky ya didn't break your leg," she told him as Chris stepped up to join her.

          "How're you doin'?" he asked Vin.

          "How… I look?"

          "Like it hurts," Larabee replied dryly.

          "Yer right," Tanner said, offering his friend a tight smile.

          "Chris, take hold of Vin's legs and hold him as still as ya can.  And you," she said to the tracker, "you try t' stay still.  I don't mind some yellin' or swearin', but ya start squirmin' and I'll have to have your friend here knock ya out so I can work."

          Vin smiled weakly.  "Do m' best, ma'am… but been shot b'fore… can't make promises."

          She smiled.  "You're doin' fine, son."  Reaching into the water, she took the small knife out and set to work digging the bullet out of Vin's thigh.

          The tracker moaned, panted, and tossed his head, clenching his jaw and eyes shut, but he somehow managed to lie mostly still while the older woman worked.

          Once she found the fragment of metal and teased it out, she stopped and allowed the wound to bleed for a while before pouring whiskey over the open gash.

          Tanner groaned loudly and clutched the sides of the table, his short fingernails digging up splinters.

          "I know it hurts, son, but it's for the best – or so the doc tells me.  Wish I had some of that carbolic he has…"

          Vin fought back a sob that made its way into his throat.  "If ya say so, ma'am," he gasped.

          She carefully stitched the wound closed with the well-soaked thread, then studied the second wound for a moment.  "You're doin' just fine," she soothed.

          Vin nodded, but he was unable to stop the tears that filled his eyes and flowed down the sides of his face – a product of pain, fear and sheer exhaustion.

          Mopping the tracker's ashen face with a damp cloth, she let him rest for a moment longer.  Then, after she wiped his face once more, she picked up the small knife and the tweezers and set to work on the wound just above the point of Tanner's hip.

          Chris had to work much harder this time to keep Vin from jerking so much he fell right off the table while she probed for the slug.

          The tracker cried out, his lips curling back off his teeth, but he held on to the sides of the table and endured it better then Chris imagined he would have in the man's place.  After what felt like an eternity to the gunslinger, Mrs. Brush found and carefully extracted the second slug.

          When she was through, Vin released the low moan he had been holding in during the last of the procedure, the agonized sound sending chills rippling down Larabee's spine.  _Fight it, Vin,_ he pleaded silently.  _You're strong.  I know you are.  I've seen it.  You can make it through this._

          The second wound didn't bleed as well as the first to cleanse itself, so Mrs. Brush poured more whiskey over it to make up for the lack.  Vin's stomach muscles jumped and rippled, and he gulped in great heaving sobs that frightened Larabee almost as much as the wounds themselves did.  He'd never seen Vin in such pain before and, he admitted to himself, he'd never really allowed himself to think about losing the man.  But now, for the first time since they had met, Larabee realized just how important the tracker's friendship had become to him.  It was his anchor now; it defined his new life and filled up some of the emptiness in his heart.

          Most of it, really.  And he wasn't at all sure he could survive losing it.  _Not again_ , he though.  _I can't go through this again_.

          Mrs. Brush set the whiskey bottle aside and began to stitch the second wound closed.  Tanner finally lay still, too exhausted to react any longer, although the tears continued to flow down the sides of his face.

          Chris wasn't sure what he could do to help, and Vin's obvious pain kept him frozen at the foot of the table.  The tracker was ghostly pale.

          When she finished, she cleaned Vin up, then carefully bandaged the wounds.

          "Bring him into the bedroom here," was her direction to Larabee as she pointed to the doorway she had disappeared through earlier.

          Chris forced himself to move from where he stood.  He lifted Vin into his arms as carefully as he could, the gentle movement still wringing a sharp cry of pain from the half-conscious man.  Larabee winced.

          "Sorry, Vin," he whispered as he carried the tracker to the large bed that occupied one wall.  "Don't mean to hurt you."

          "Ain't yer fault," was the softly slurred reply.

          Mrs. Brush turned back the covers and Chris laid his friend down, watching as Vin sank into the feather mattress, looking terribly small and child-like.

          Vin tried to give his worried companion a reassuring smile, but Chris could see the fear in the tracker's blue eyes, and frowned in reply.

          The old woman took over, tucking the blankets up around the tracker's shoulders, then wiping his face once more with a damp cloth.  "You did fine, just fine," she told him.  "Get some sleep now, son.  I'll wake you in a few hours and have ya take some broth."

          Vin looked at her and tried to speak, but his lower lip just trembled and the words froze in his throat.

          "Save your strength," she told him kindly.  "And don't you worry, we'll be here if you need us."  She patted his cheek and Vin relaxed, letting exhaustion draw his eyes shut a moment before he was sound asleep.

          Turning back to Chris, Mrs. Brush caught the older man trying to wipe away his tears before she saw them.  "He's lost a lot of blood, but he looks to be a fighter, that much is clear.  The two of you look like you haven't slept in days, and I won't ask how long it's been since either of you've eaten a decent meal…  Still, he's young and strong.  He'll pull through with rest, and God's help."

          "I hope you're right," Larabee whispered.  "Thank you for your help."

          "Don't thank me just yet," she cautioned him.  "Now, come let me put some food in your belly before you faint away yourself."

          Chris reluctantly followed her back into the kitchen and helped her clean up.  That done, he sat down at the table to work on a cup of coffee while he watched her fixing him a meal.  For a moment the world around him seemed to waver and, suddenly, he wasn't sure what he was seeing was real or a dream.  But then he glanced down and saw the damage Vin's nails had inflicted on the wooden table and he knew with certainty that it was real.

          It had been years since he'd allowed someone close enough that their possible death could affect him.  Not since he'd lost Sarah and Adam.  But all that had changed the day he'd met the tracker's eyes across the dusty main street in Four Corners.

          Chris still wasn't sure what it was about Tanner that allowed him to skirt the walls Larabee usually kept between himself and the others he met, but skirt them he had.  Their friendship had been instantaneous – a bond that felt like it had been years, or a lifetime, in the making.  But it had happened in a single glance.

          Maybe it was the fact that Vin had planned to take on the cowboys single-handed to save Nathan from hanging.  Or maybe it was just the man's grit, or his lack of fear, or his willingness to die for a just cause.  But whatever it was, it had somehow drawn Chris back into the land of the living – a place he had sworn to himself he would never visit after losing his family.  But here he was.

          And now he might face another loss… as great as the one some three plus year ago…

          A sound outside made the gunslinger jump and he fidgeted anxiously while he waited for the promised meal, thinking about how close the bounty hunters must be getting to finding them.  As soon as it was light they would have no trouble following the blood trail right to the barn, and then he and Vin would be as good as caught.

          Mrs. Brush set a plate down in front of him and watched while Chris wolfed the food down.

          They hadn't eaten a real meal the whole time they were being tracked, and the gunslinger hadn't allowed himself to think about how hungry he was until he saw the ham and eggs sitting in front of him.  Once he did, though, he was ravenous.

          "We have to move on before daybreak.  Those men are going to follow Vin's blood trail right to your barn," he said when he was done, the food and warmth mixing with exhaustion to slur his words slightly.

          "Who are these men hunting you down like a pair of rabid wolves?"

          "Bounty hunters," Chris told her, shaking his head to force himself awake.  "Like Vin told you, he's wanted in Texas, but the charge was pinned on him."

          "Well, bounty hunters or no, you can't leave, not for a couple of days, or maybe more.  If he tears those stitches open, or gets an infection along the trail, it'll kill him sure.  And to be honest, Mr. Larabee, it's plain you're in no condition to ride yourself.  Why, you're falling asleep at my table, so get on in there and get some sleep.  I'll keep an eye out for those hunters.  And don't you worry, I know how to use a rifle if need be."

          "I appreciate everything you've done, but–"

          "Sakes but you're an ornery one," she admonished, a twinkle in her eye.  "Son, most everybody in these parts knows better than to argue with Grandma Brush.  Now, get your fanny in there and get some sleep."

          Larabee rose from the table.  He knew he was beyond riding, and Vin couldn't sit a horse right now to save his life.  If the bounty hunters did show up, he'd deal with them, somehow, but for the moment all he wanted was a few hours of sleep in that soft bed.

          "Get out of those dirty clothes before you get in there with him.  There's one of Jim's clean nightshirts on top the dresser.  You put that on first."

          As Chris headed off to join Vin, she watched him go, shaking her head, a small smile on her face.  Where Vin reminded her of her first husband, Chris reminded her of her first suitor – same green eyes and dark honey-blond hair, same hard edge and worrying nature, too.  They were both good men, of that she was sure, and she decided that they would get the chance they needed, even if she had to shoot herself a bounty hunter to see to it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Mrs. Brush woke Vin twice during the night to have him take a cup of tea, and both times Chris slept right through it.

          "He's worn way down," Vin whispered during her second visit.  "Don't recall ever seein' Chris sleep through anythin'."

          "He's sick too."

          Vin flashed her a questioning, worried look.

          "Oh, I don't mean he's got a sickness.  He's just sick in the heart from worryin' 'bout you."  She shook her head.  "I still can't fathom men makin' a living, huntin' other men."

          Vin smiled thinly, wondering what she would think of him if she knew he'd been a bounty hunter himself once, but that felt like a long time ago now.  "They think they's helpin' all the decent folks, gettin' rid 'a the… bad elements."

          "Heaven knows that might not be a bad thing, in some cases, but I've noticed that most men I'd like to see the good Lord remove from our midst aren't outlaws."

          "Yes, ma'am," he whispered with a weak smile as she laid a cool cloth on his forehead, then tucked the blankets up around his shoulders.  "We got t' be movin' on.  Those men find us… we'll end up dead fer sure."

          "Dead?"

          "Al Timmons don't take a man in breathin' if he c'n get paid the same fer a body."

          She shook her head sadly.  "Don't ya worry, son, you have a few hours to rest."

          Vin took a deep breath and said, "Told y' the truth, ma'am.  Didn't kill the man they say I did… was a bounty hunter m'self then.  Man I's after killed a farmer, made it look like I done it, just t' shake me off his trail."

          She nodded.  "This Timmons fella don't know that?"

          "No, ma'am."

          "Ya still a bounty hunter?" she asked him.

          "No, ma'am.  Me an' Chris an' five others are peacekeepers over in Four Corners.  Judge Travis pays us a dollar a day t' see the town's kept safe."

          "A worthy calling," she said, nodding.  "Guess that makes you two lawmen of sorts."

          Vin tried to smile.  "Not official, ma'am.  An' it won't stop them hunters.  That's why we got t' go."

          "You're in no shape for a hard ride, son.  Ya need some rest and some good cookin'… and maybe a little peace for your soul.  How old are you, Vin Tanner?"

          "Don't rightly know fer sure, ma'am," he admitted.  "M' ma died when I's five or so.  Kiowa found an' raised me 'til the Army killed 'em an' put me in an orphanage.  I kinda lost track along the way."

          "Well, I'd guess twenty-two or so.  An' I have to tell ya, you're too old."  She removed the cloth from his forehead.  "In here," she added, touching his chest just above his heart.  "Guess ya ain't had an easy life, but it sounds like you're building a good one now."

          "Tryin'."

          Chris stirred next to him, moving to bury himself a little deeper into the soft mattress, but he still didn't wake.  The tracker looked over at him and Mrs. Brush could see the concern in the young man's blue eyes.

          "He ain't wanted," Vin told her, "but Timmons'll think he is since he's ridin' with me.  He'll kill him if he gets the chance.  Maybe _you_ can talk him int' leavin'.  I'd sure appreciate it if y' could.  Might be too late fer me, but Chris…"  He paused, looking back at the woman.  "He already lost a wife an' son, don't want him t' watch a friend get shot down too."

          Mrs. Brush leaned over and pressed her hand to Vin's forehead.  "We'll just have to make sure neither of you boys gets himself killed.  Now, ya get some more rest.  Your fever's building, and I want ya rested when it gets 'round to burnin' that infection out."

          Vin nodded, shutting his eyes and letting Larabee's steady breathing lull him back to sleep.

          Mrs. Brush left them and headed for the kitchen.  Elizabeth would be there soon, and probably the bounty hunters as well.  The horses would have to be moved, the bloody clothes hidden.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chris was sure he'd heard a voice.  He froze under the covers and opened his eyes, waiting, but nothing followed but silence.  A few moments later, the aromas of fresh coffee, bacon and buttermilk biscuits drifted in from the kitchen, causing him to shiver in the warmth under the covers as he remembered the last time he'd smelled all those things together – the morning he'd left his ranch, only to return to a burned out homestead.  The last morning he'd seen Sarah and Adam alive.

          His breath caught in his throat and he pushed the muted pain away as he climbed carefully from the bed, and pulled his clothes on.  That he could push it away bothered him.  He couldn't be forgetting, could he?  That just wasn't fair to Sarah, or the life they'd shared.  He'd loved her, more than anything or anyone in his entire life…  But she was gone, that life was gone…  And he had a new life… one that seemed to revolve around a scruffy, shaggy-haired, stubborn tracker.

          That though brought him up short.  But it was true.  His life did revolve around Tanner, and had from the first time their eye met.  Hell, he'd been ready to ride off to Tascosa with the man without a second thought.

          Oh, at the time he'd probably thought it would be a good way to get himself killed for a worthy cause – clearing Tanner's name – but he knew better now.  It was just that he couldn't let the man ride out of his life, not when he'd just found him.

          But that made no sense.  Tanner wasn't a woman.  He couldn't love the man like he had Sarah.  He couldn't make a life with him like he could Sarah, or even Mary.  But he couldn't bear the thought of losing him, either.

          Once he was dressed, his gunbelt in place, he checked on Vin.  The tracker was sleeping peacefully, and Chris didn't have the heart to wake him.  If the bounty hunters showed up, he would just have to lead them away.

          _Probably get caught, but at least you won't be dead, too.  I'm not losing anyone else I care about, even if I can't understand it_.

          How long Timmons would keep him alive wasn't a pleasant second thought, so he pushed it away and pulled the blankets back up from where Vin had pushed them down, noting that Grandma Brush had tied a breechcloth of sorts around the tracker's hips to protect his privacy.  Both of the bandages were bloodstained, but they were nowhere near sodden, and for that he was grateful to the old woman.

          If they could stay clear of Timmons, maybe they could both get out of this alive.  He hoped so.  But if Vin died, Chris knew he'd spend whatever was left of his life hunting Timmons down and killing him – slowly.

          He gently tucked the blankets behind Vin's shoulders, whispering softly, "You keep fighting, Vin.  I need you…" and then headed for the kitchen.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Morning," said a pretty young woman who was standing at the woodstove.

          Larabee stood in the doorway, speechless.  She had thick red-brown hair, large green eyes, and a smile that told him he was staring.  He looked away, feeling the blood surge to his cheeks.  She could have been Sarah's younger sister.

          "Mama said the cookin' might drag ya out of bed.  This'll be ready in a bit if you'd like a cup of coffee and a shave first."

          Chris's hand rose to his chin and the bristly trail growth.  She was right, he did need a shave.  "Thanks, think I will," he mumbled, accepting the coffee she poured for him.

          "If you open the curtains in Mama's room, you'll find everything you need.  I fixed it up earlier when I shaved Mr. Tanner."

          The gunslinger blushed again, realizing that she'd been in the room while he'd been sleeping, and he hadn't even heard her.  "Gonna get myself killed, I keep this up," he muttered to himself.

          She smiled and turned back to her cooking.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chris shaved quickly, the smells from the other room drawing him like an iron shaving to a lodestone.  But when he returned the kitchen he found Grandma Brush standing at the stove.

          "Good mornin', Mr. Larabee.  Sit down, son, your breakfast's ready."

          "Thanks," he said, sliding into a chair and looking around for the younger woman.  "When I woke up, there was a–?"

          "My youngest, Laura Ellen."

          "Mama, there's three men coming down the creek," Laura said as she entered the house, her worried gaze shifting from the older woman to Larabee.  "Looks like they're following some sort of tracks."

          "Come with me," Grandma Brush told Chris, heading back into the bedroom where Vin was still sleeping soundly.

          Laura removed the gunslinger's half-finished plate from the table.

          Grandma Brush went to a hand-made rag-rug that covered a good portion of the floor and stooped down, tossing it back to expose a door set into the floor.  Chris eyed it curiously.  Reaching down, the old woman pulled it open.

          "You bring Vin on down here," she instructed, going down first with a lit lamp.

          The gunslinger went to the bed, tossed back the covers, and scooped up the smaller man, who grunted softly, but didn't seem to be in much pain.  Carrying him to the opening, he saw the steps and started down.

          In the small room below the house, the older woman pointed to a narrow cot in one corner.  Chris carried the tracker over and laid him down on the bare mattress.

          "Laura, bring me a couple blankets," she called up to her daughter, then turned to face the blond.  "Bolt the door when I'm gone, and stay down here with Vin," she told him.  "Laura and I will see to those men.  As soon as it's safe, we'll come for ya."

          Chris nodded, but he had to admit he was scared.  Every instinct screamed that this could be a trap, that he was allowing the women to cage him down here.  He wanted to be out in the open so he could protect Vin.  Still, his gut told him he could trust the old woman, and he really had no choice but to place their lives in her hands.

          "Keep him quiet if he wakes," she added as she climbed back up the stairs.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Al Timmons, a square-jawed, red-haired man in his late-forties, swung stiffly from his saddle and knelt down to study the drops of blood that led right into the large barn.  It had been a long chase, but the hunt was almost over.

          Looking up at the two other men who still sat wearily on their horses, he nodded.  "We have 'em, boys.

          The brothers he called Dog and Toad, swung out of their saddles, drawing their rifles from their scabbards as they did.

          The three men approached the barn doors together, their guns held at the ready.  "Tanner!  Come out here, Tanner!" Timmons called.

          There was no answer, nor any movement from inside the barn.

          The three men moved to the doors, finally pulling them open and entering the barn.  After a quick search, Dog, the elder of the two brothers, yanked his hat off and slapped it against his leg, saying, "Damn it, Timmons, I told ya they were long gone!"

          The bounty hunter rubbed his square jaw with his finger and thumb.  "I don't think so.  There's only one blood trail.  There'd be two if they'd ridden out again."

          "His friend probably stopped here t' bind Tanner up," Toad argued.

          "They're gone, I tell ya," Dog repeated, shaking his head.  "Five hundred dollars – gone!"

          "I don't think so," Timmons repeated.  "I say we go have a visit with the people in the house."

          "You think they're in there?" Toad asked him, his tone hopeful.  Five hundred dollars, even split three ways, could buy plenty of whiskey and whores, even for someone like him.

          "What I know is this," Timmons growled, "Tanner couldn't have traveled any farther than this with all the blood he was losing, not and still be in the saddle.  And there were no tracks of men riding double.  They had to have stopped here, or in town, and I don't think they made it as far as Paradise.  I think they're in there."  He nodded at the house.  "Probably holding the family hostage – if they haven't already killed them – and wondering what they're going to do now."

          "If Tanner ain't dead," Dog grumbled.  "That friend of his'll be halfway t' Mexico by now."

          Toad nodded his agreement, saying, "Never see an outlaw stick 'round long enough to bury another of their kind."

          "If he's dead, we need the body to collect the bounty," Timmons said.  "And if he isn't, then he's in that house, so that's where we're going."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The knock was loud and clipped.  Grandma Brush opened the door just far enough to look out at the three men she'd been watching from her window.  "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

          "Ma'am," the bounty hunter said, touching the brim of his hat in greeting.  "Name's Al Timmons.  My men and I are searching for a wanted man, a murderer named Vin Tanner.  He was ridin' with a man dressed all in black.  We tracked them as far as your barn.  We'd like to come and have a look around, if you wouldn't mind."

          "Well, I would mind, Mr. Timmons," she told the bounty hunter.  "I've never turned a stranger away from my door, but I won't open my home so ya can go snoopin' 'round like hogs in the woods.  You and your men want some breakfast and coffee, you're welcome to it – looks like y'all could use it – but I won't have ya searching though my home.  There aren't any murderers under my roof."

          "Ma'am, we're concerned those men might be holding some of your family hostage to make you say that."

          "There's no one here holding anyone against their will.  Now, I'll only ask once more, would you like some breakfast?"

          Timmons nodded.  "We'd be much obliged, ma'am."

          Grandma Brush opened the door and the three men stepped into the house, although only Timmons continued to hold his gun ready in case he should need it.

          Laura Ellen stood next to the stove, holding a shotgun by the barrel, the stock resting on her toe.  She nodded at the men as they entered, the brothers moving immediately to sit down at the table.

          "Hold on, boys," Timmons said, raising his gun and pointing it at the young woman.  "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we've just got to take a look around.  It's for your own safety, and ours."

          Laura Ellen's eyes flashed, but she leaned the shotgun against the wall, then went back to the eggs she was scrambling.  The three men fanned out, giving the house a thorough search.

          Grandma Brush followed Timmons into her and Jim's bedroom as he began his search, taking a seat in her rocking chair, which sat on top of the rag-rug.

          "Mighty poor way to repay my hospitality, Mr. Timmons.  If I was you, I'd make it a point to be out of the Territory before my husband and sons come home, they won't take kindly to men holding me and my daughter at gunpoint, or prowlin' through our home like common thieves.  And mind ya, I want all your pockets turned out before ya leave."

          "Yes, ma'am," Timmons replied, frowning when he found no evidence that Tanner or his friend had been there.  Where else could they be?

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chris stood at the bottom of the stairs, his gun drawn.  He listened to the rhythmic squeak of the old rocker above his head, and the heavy thump of boots as one of the bounty hunters moved slowly around the room.  He glanced over at Vin, who was resting quietly, and hoped Tanner wouldn't wake up or make any noises that might give them away.

          Larabee took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wishing the man upstairs would move on.  The gunslinger could feel the sweat rolling down his back as he waited for the heavy footfalls to finally fade from the room.  Once they did, the rocking stopped, and a lighter footfall followed the boots out.

          "C-Chris?" Vin called weakly.

          Larabee turned back to find the tracker staring groggily around the room.  "Quiet," he said softly, moving quickly to squat down at the man's bedside.

          "Where am I?  The doc's?" Vin asked him in a raspy whisper.

          "Grandma Brush's cellar," Chris whispered back.  "Timmons and his men are upstairs."

          Tanner's eyes flew open wide.  "Hell, Chris, why didn't ya go when ya had the chance?"

          "I didn't have the chance," Chris told him and then added, "Already told you, I'm not leavin' 'til you're ready to ride."

          Vin scowled at the older man, but he was very glad Larabee was there.  "What're they doin' up there?"

          "Think they searched the house," Chris said.  "Would Timmons hurt an old woman?"

          Vin stared intently at the top of the stairs, brow furrowed.  "Don't think so.  Timmons don't have a reputation fer meanness, 'cept with outlaws."

          "How're you feeling?"

          "Hot 'n' sore… an' like I got m'self caught in a buffalo stampede."

          Chris appreciated the honest answer.  "I'll ask Mrs. Brush if she has anything that might help," he offered.

          Vin shrugged one shoulder.  "Pain tells me 'm still alive."

          "Long as you stay that way."

          "Gonna try."  And with that Tanner fell back to sleep, or passed out, Larabee wasn't sure which.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It felt like a week had passed before Chris heard the light footfalls return, then the sound of the rocker being dragged away.  He unbolted the door and a few moments later it opened above him and Grandma Brush's voice called down, "It's all right now, ya can bring 'im back up."

          Larabee walked over to the bed and gathered his unconscious friend into his arms.  The tracker whimpered softly, but he didn't wake.  A fine film of sweat covered Vin's body, and the heat from his building fever burned through Chris's shirtsleeves.  "Damn," he breathed, hoping the fever wouldn't get too bad.

          Laura Ellen had the bed turned down by the time the gunslinger made it to the top of the stairs and he took Vin straight over and laid him back in the large feather bed.

          Grandma Brush pressed a wrinkled hand to the injured man's cheek, then to his chest, testing the progress of the fever.  When she finished, she pulled the blankets up to cover the tracker and motioned for Chris to follow her into the kitchen.

          Larabee took a seat at the kitchen table and Laura Ellen quickly had a plate of breakfast sitting in front of him.  He studied the food for a moment, knowing he was hungry, but his stomach still felt like it had been tied into a tight knot.  He took a deep breath and forced himself to take the first bite… then a second, and a third.

          Grandma sat down across the table from him, and Laura Ellen left them alone, going in to sit with Vin.

          Chris glanced around the room between bites as if he expected the bounty hunters to step out of the walls.

          "Don't ya worry, son," Mrs. Brush said.  "They rode off to town.  I made sure ol' Jack saw 'em off the property.  He wouldn't've come home if they were still on the ranch."

          "Jack?"

          "The dog.  Smart dog, too," she explained, rising to go and fill the coffee cup Larabee had already drained.

          "They'll be back as soon as they find out we're not in town, you can count on that."

          "Maybe, but they won't be coming back inside this house.  You and Vin will be safe.  When Jim and the boys get home, they'll see to it those bounty hunters are escorted out of the Territory."

          Chris swallowed the last of his eggs and looked up at the old woman.  "Where are we, exactly?"

          She smiled.  "Paradise."

          A shiver ran down the gunslinger's back.  It was easy to imagine both he and Vin were already dead, gone on to their final rewards – he could easily imagine Hell being one long pursuit by bounty hunters.  "Paradise?"

          "That's what they called the town.  Portal's a mite bigger, ya know it?"

          Chris nodded, recognizing that name.  "What's that room down there for?" he asked her.

          "Years ago we had some problems with uprisings among the Apache, back before the Army came in and set up Fort Bowie.  My first husband dug that out so the kids could hide down there and not feel so scared.  Don't reckon it would've stopped 'em if they'd been determined, but it served us well enough."

          Larabee nodded as he finished the last of his meal.

          "Things've quieted down since then… even made us some friends among the Chiricahua and the Pueblos."

          Laura Ellen leaned around the door, saying, "Mama, his fever's climbin' and he's in some pain."

          _Damn_ , Chris thought.  "He said he felt like he'd been caught in a buff stampede."

          Grandma Brush rose and headed back to the bedroom, Chris following on her heels.

          Vin tossed restlessly under the quilts, his face flushed, his jaw clenched tightly.

          The old woman frowned.  "Daughter, go get the laudanum, and a glass of water, then brew up some of that Indian tea."

          Laura Ellen brushed past Chris, giving him a reassuring smile that didn't work.

          Grandma pulled the covers down to Vin's hips, then sat down on the edge of the bed so she could removed the bandage from his side wound and inspect the injury.  It was draining, but the skin around the wound an angry red.  Vin fretted and moaned as she touched and probed.

          When she finished, she redressed the wound with fresh bandages, then checked his leg, which was doing better.  She had just pulled the covers up again when Laura Ellen came back with the items her mother had asked for.

          "How is he?" she asked the old woman.

          "Not good; fever's buildin'.  That side wound's worse 'n I thought.  We have to make sure he gets plenty of water, and keep him comfortable as we can.  The fever will burn the infection out, but…  Well, that might be just as dangerous as the infection."  She looked at Chris, who had gone a little pale.  "Sorry, son, but you have to know the truth.  Things could go bad for Vin, and I want ya ready if it does."

          "He'll make it," Larabee said softly, his heart pounding in his chest.  Vin couldn't die, not like this, not before he'd had a chance to clear his name, or before he could figure out just what the hell he was feeling for the man.

          Laura Ellen set the bottle of laudanum down on the bedside table, then filled a glass with water from the pitcher on the dresser.  She added a few drops of the medicine to the liquid and handed it to her mother.

          Grandma Brush took the glass, instructing, "Bring in a big bowl of cold water so we can wipe him down, Daughter.  Mr. Larabee, you come help me sit Vin up and get this into him.  Might be the only dose we can give him, but it'll help the pain for a little while."

          Larabee gently took his friend under the arms and lifted Vin up while the older woman arranged the pillows behind his back.  He lowered the tracker back against them, noting that Vin felt unnaturally light.

          Tanner groaned, but he didn't open his eyes.

          Then, walking around to the other side of the bed, Chris sat down, leaning one shoulder against the hand-carved headboard.

          Grandma Brush took Vin's face in her hands, saying, "Son, can ya hear me?  Come on now, Vin, wake up."

          The tracker ground his eyes shut, scowling.  He started to pant.

          She shook Vin's shoulder.  "Ya have to wake up, Vin.  Come on now, son."

          The tracker could almost hear the words as they filtered into his thoughts past the roar echoing in his mind, the roar that was pushing his consciousness down into a black abyss of pain and fear.  But he couldn't understand the words.  Still, the voice seemed familiar, like his mother was calling to him.

          He forced his eyes open, and asked with a frightened whisper, "Ma?"

          Chris reached out, squeezing the tracker's bare shoulder, "Easy, Vin," he said softly.  "Open your eyes."

          _Chris_.  Vin rolled his head to the side until he caught sight of the gunslinger, then he smiled weakly.  "Still here, Cowboy?"

          "Still here," Larabee assured him.  "How're you feelin'?" he asked, knowing it was perfectly obvious that Tanner felt like hell.

          "Hot," Vin said, trying to swallow, but his throat was too dry.  "Funny…" he rasped out in a whisper, "…thought it was winter."

          "Just the fever," Grandma Brush said.

          Vin looked from Larabee to the older woman and, for a moment, he thought he was seeing Nettie Wells, but then his vision cleared and he remembered where they were, and who the woman was.

          "I want ya to drink this, son," she told him.  "There's some laudanum in it that'll help ease the pain.  Then I want ya to try and take some tea.  Indians 'round here use it for fevers.  Seems to work pretty good."  She handed the glass to Chris, who carefully held it to the injured man's lips.

          Vin finished the water in a few thirsty gulps, even though he grimaced at the taste of the medicine.

          Grandma Brush took the empty glass and handed Chris a cup of the tea.  The smell that rose from the surface made the gunslinger's stomach churn, but Vin didn't seem to notice the smell after he took his first sip.  It took a little longer, but the tracker finished all of the tea as well.

          Laura Ellen carried in a bowl of water and set it down on the bedside table, then took several cloths out of her apron pocket and set them next to the bowl.  "Do you need me, Mama?" she asked, watching Vin worriedly.  "I should go tend the animals."

          "No, Daughter, you go on now; we'll do just fine."

          Grandma took one of the cloths, dipped it into the water, wrung it out, and placed it on Vin's forehead.  She used another to wipe the sweat from his face, neck and chest.

          Chris just waited and watched, unsure what he could, or should, do to help.

          Vin shuddered as she worked, his fingers curling into the covers as he moaned softly.  "Hurts."

          "Easy, Vin, easy," Larabee soothed, lightly rubbing Tanner's shoulder.

          "Aw hell, Chris… 'm scared."

          Larabee reached out instinctively, letting his hand cover one of the tracker's. "You're going to be fine, you hear me?  It'll be fine."

          Without looking at the older man, Vin released his grip on the quilts and inserted his hand into the gunslinger's grasp.  "'M glad y' stayed," he whispered.

          Chris gave the trembling hand a careful squeeze as he watched Vin's eyes slide shut again.  "You're gonna be all right, Vin," he said determinedly.  _I won't lose you, too_.

          Grandma Brush watched the pair, her concern carefully hidden behind a neutral expression.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A scream brought Larabee wide awake, but the sight that met his eyes made him wish it was all just a terrible nightmare:  Vin was curled into a ball on the bed, Grandma Brush holding his head in her lap, one of her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she rocked him from side to side.

          Chris shoved himself out of the rocking chair he'd fallen asleep in near the small bedroom fireplace, joining them on the bed.

          Vin twisted and fought, trying to escape the burning agony that gripped his midsection and spread out to set his entire body on fire.  All that filtered through was the pain, moment after endless moment of anguish.

          _Chris.  Where's Chris?  I want this t' stop.  I just want it t' end!_

          The gunslinger looked to the older woman, who was frowning.  She lifted her chin and met Larabee's worried gaze.  "Put a bit of whiskey in a full glass of water and bring it to me," she told him.

          Chris had just started to prepare the drink when the bedroom door opened and Laura Ellen rushed in.  "Mama, two of those men are comin' back."

          "Get the rifle, girl, keep 'em out of the house."

          Chris brought the glass to her.

          "Help me sit him up," the old woman told him.

          The two worked to unfold Vin, maneuvering him so Chris could hold him propped up against his chest in a seated position.

          Grandma Brush set the glass on the bedside table, then gripped Vin's shoulders, shaking him.  "Wake up, boy.  Come on now."

          The tracker's eyes blinked sluggishly open, but they remained unfocused and unseeing.  She raised the glass to his lips and he gulped thirstily, the coolness of the water helping to ease the fire in his stomach.

          "Hang on, Vin.  Just a little longer," Chris said quietly as the man drank.

          _Chris?_   He thought he could hear Larabee's voice, but it sounded so far away.  He struggled to reach it, but he couldn't find his way through the maze that sprang up in his thoughts.  "Chris!" he cried.

          The gunslinger felt Vin begin to shake uncontrollably.  "Easy, Vin, easy.  I'm right here.  I've got you."

          Tanner tried to speak, but the pain seemed to separate his mind from his body, making it impossible for him to force the words out.  He whimpered, scared and confused.  But then the fog in his mind lifted and he finally managed to ask, "Wha's… happenin'… t' me?"

          "Hang on, Vin.  You hear me?  You have to hang on," he heard Larabee whisper into his ear.  "I don't want to lose–"  Chris started to lay the injured man back down on the bed, but the tracker's panicked expression and soft squeal stopped him.

          "He's scared," Grandma Brush said.  "He don't really understand what's happening.  You just sit there and hold him; hold him tight as ya can.  You're his link to this world, right now, son.  Ya let go of him, he just might just let go, too."

          The older woman moved off the bed.  She soaked several cloths in the water and draped them over Vin's torso and legs, trying to lower his fever.

          Chris continued to sit, cradling the younger man in his arms, trying to quiet him as best he could.  He was afraid to say anything, knowing that if he tried, his own fears would become obvious, so he hushed Vin quietly, like he would a new mustang, while he rocked him slowly from side to side.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Everything shifted.  The terrible pain that had gripped him a few moments before slipped away like the fog of a bad dream and Vin suddenly felt light and free.

          The world shimmered with colors and feelings the tracker had never known before.  And, looking down, he could hear himself gasping for breath as he watched as Chris rocking him, cradled in his arms.

          It was like a dream, all of it far away and slightly unreal, but the raw anguish he saw on his friend's face cut painfully into his being.

          _Aw hell, Chris, y' shoulda left.  No reason y' had t' see this.  Never wanted t' be another nightmare hauntin' ya like yer wife an' son_.

          More than a little confused, Vin glanced around him and realized that he was floating several feet off the floor in one corner of the small bedroom.

          _Must be crazy with fever_ , he thought as he continued to watch the two people working over him.  _That, or 'm dead_.

          He'd heard an old Kiowa woman say once that she'd flown like a bird around the camp while she'd actually been in labor.  She'd very nearly died, and no one had expected her to recover, but she had.  She named her daughter Cloud Sparrow, because she had seen her for the first time while she's been flying above, watching as the child was born.

          He watched Chris reach up to touch his face, the words the gunslinger spoke reaching him like a distant whisper.  "…best friend I've ever had, Vin Tanner.  You're family, and I don't want to lose you.  You hear me?  You can't die, Vin.  Hang on, damn you, just hang on."

          _I hear y', Chris_ , Vin said, but there were no words, no sounds.  He glanced around the room again, searching for answers that were beyond his grasp.  _Just don't look like I got a whole lot t' say 'bout it_.

          Vin watched as his body's chest rose and fell in a frantic effort to force more air into his lungs.  _Guess I ain't dead yet, but I sure as hell don't understand what's happenin'_.

          He looked up at the ceiling, expecting to see angels, or something.  Then felt ashamed.

          _Guess it won't be angels_ , he thought, suddenly ashamed of his first assumption.  He'd hoped to see his mama again one day, in Heaven, but he wasn't sure the Lord would look too kindly on him, or let him into Paradise.  _Chris?_ he called.

          He knew Larabee was there, his strong arms wrapped around him, and Vin wanted to reach out and grab hold of the man, to cling to him and refuse to give in to death, but he couldn't force his arms to rise.

          _Think 'm gonna die, Chris_ , he said, hoping his friend might somehow hear him.  After all, they had shared an unusually close bond since the moment they'd met.  _Don't wanna leave y' like this, Cowboy, but I don't know what t' do.  Y' got friends now, family, an' I know they'll watch out fer y' when 'm gone…_

          But he also knew that wasn't true.  Oh, the rest of them would try and look out for Chris, but something deep inside him knew that if he died, Larabee wouldn't be too far behind.  At least then he wouldn't be alone…

          He'd felt alone for so long… until that day there in Four Corners when he'd looked out across the street and met Larabee's eyes.  In that moment something empty inside him had been filled.  He hadn't understood it at the time, still didn't, but he'd come to accept it, treasured it.  No one in his life had ever meant as much to him, except maybe his mother, but those memories and feelings were so faded with time that he couldn't say for sure.

          Chris was his family, his friend…  The man was his heart.  Or at least he filled his heart in some way that made him slightly skittish.  He'd seen things, hell, had even had some things done to him a time or two… but what he felt about Chris, it was different.  He wasn't sure he'd ever sort it out, but he wanted to.  He wanted to understand all the things Larabee made him feel inside, all the ways he seemed to fill up his life…  But he doubted now that he'd ever get the chance.

          A commotion in the kitchen caught his attention.  Laura Ellen was calling out a warning and he saw Grandma Brush grab his Mare's Leg from his holster, which was hanging on the bedpost.

          Timmons and one of his trackers entered the room.

          "That's far enough," Grandma Brush said, leveling the weapon on the men.  She sounded like an angry mama bear protecting one of her cubs, and Vin grinned. She had grit.  She and Nettie Wells had been cut from the same cloth and he was sorry he wouldn't get the chance to know her better… or to tell Nettie goodbye.  Nettie had become the mother he's so desperately longed for, and he loved her like any good son would love his ma.  God, why hadn't he ever told her that?

          Timmons stared at the two men on the bed, his rifle lowering.

          "Put your guns on the floor – _now_ ," the older woman snapped.

          The two men complied.

          Vin saw his body jerk and arch back into Chris, who was glaring at the men, the hatred burning in his green eyes as fierce as the tracker's fever burning against his skin.  Larabee reached for his Colt and Vin realized Chris was about to shoot the men who had killed him.

          "Move out of the way," Larabee growled at Grandma Brush.

          _No!  Chris, don't kill 'em!  You'll be on the run the rest 'a yer life, an' I won't be there t' watch yer back!_

          The older woman stepped to one side after glancing back just long enough to see the expression on Chris's face.  Laura Ellen stepped in behind the two men, her shotgun held on them as well.

          "See what you've done?  This make you happy, Timmons?" Larabee growled ominously.

          "Don't do anything foolish, Mister," the bounty hunter said.

          "Foolish?  Look at him!" Chris roared, the pain in his voice striking Vin like an invisible ocean wave.  "Vin Tanner never murdered anyone you sonuvabitch!  Eli Joe framed him for Jess Kincaid's killin', to get Vin off his trail!  He was a bounty hunter then, just like you!  You've killed an _innocent_ man!"

          _Don't shoot 'im, Chris!  Please!_

          Knowing the gunslinger was a moment away from killing Timmons where he stood, Vin scrambled to reach his friend before Larabee did something he'd have to live with for the rest of his life.

          _Chris!  No!  Listen t' me!  Ain't worth that!  Please!  Don't kill him!  Damn it, Lar'bee!  Listen t' me!_

_God help me…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Vin began to fight weakly in Larabee's arms.

          "You get back to Vin," Grandma Brush said sternly, adding sharply when Chris hesitated, "Mind what I tell you, boy!"

          But Chris was still fighting the impulse to kill the two men where they stood.  They had taken Vin from him.  That had stolen the man he loved from him.  Then Tanner cried out, breaking through Larabee's blinding rage.

          The gunslinger shoved his revolver back into his holster and wrapped both arms around Vin, trying to calm him down.  "Easy, Vin, take it easy.  That's it…  Easy…"

          "You two, in the kitchen," Grandma Brush directed with a slight wave of the tracker's Mare's Leg.

          The two men backed out of the room as Chris reached over to place another cold cloth on the tracker's chest.

          "Sit," she told the pair when they reached the kitchen.

          Timmons and Dog sat down at the table, Grandma Brush holding the Mare's Leg on them while Laura tied their hands behind their backs.

          "Where's the other one?" the older woman asked them.

          "Covering the trail out of town," Timmons said, Dog shooting him an angry look when he did.

          Vin cried out again in the other room and Chris's voice echoed out behind it, full of fear.  "Mrs. Brush!"

          Grandma left Laura Ellen with the men and went back to the bedroom where Chris was trying to hold Vin down while the tracker tried to fight his way up off the mattress, his eyes wide open but unseeing.  Struggling to draw a raspy breath, his hands flailed weakly against Larabee's arms.

          "Vin, take it easy.  It's me.  It's Chris.  You're safe.  Take it easy."

          Vin could hear Chris's voice, and he was trying to find him, groping vainly in the pain and confusion that ruled his mind, but that only seemed to make Larabee mad.  Why was Chris mad?

          "Lady!" Timmons yelled from the kitchen.  "Lady, I can help him!"

          "Shut up, Timmons!" Larabee shouted.  "Shut up, or so help me I _will_ kill you!"  His green eyes locked on Grandma Brush's.  "He's dying.  What do we do?"

          Vin cried out again, this time weakly, and collapsed back onto the bed.

          Grandma Brush slipped her arm around Chris's shaking shoulders.  "I don't know, son.  I just don't know what else to do."

          "Lady!"

          "Stay with him," she instructed, before returning to the kitchen.  "What the devil do you want?  I've a mind to shoot ya myself for what you've done to that boy!"

          "I can help him," Timmons repeated.

          "You crazy, Timmons?" Dog demanded.

          "Look," the bounty hunter continued, his gaze locked on the older woman's, "my father was a doctor, in Boston, I grew up helping him.  I'm a doctor!"

          Grandma Brush hesitated until she heard Chris's choked cry.  "Damn it, Vin, don't you die on me you sonuvabitch!"

          Laying the Mare's Leg down, Mrs. Brush took a knife from a drawer and cut Timmons free.  He rose, following her into the bedroom.

          Chris was cradling Vin in his arms again, rocking the man's limp body.  "You stay the hell away from him," he growled at the bounty hunter, tears tracking down his face.  "Haven't you done enough?"

          Timmons ignored the comment, going to the bedside and holding out his hands.  "Let me have him.  Hurry."

          Larabee's eyes blazed, one hand dropping toward his gun again.

          "Do it, Chris," Grandma Brush snapped, breaking through the hatred that was consuming the gunslinger's soul.  He looked at her.  "Give Vin to him.  Hurry, son, he's dyin'."

          Chris looked down at the still form of his best friend, then let Timmons lift the tracker from his arms.

          "Your trough?" the bounty hunter asked Mrs. Brush.

          "Follow me," she said.

          Larabee climbed off the bed, following the pair out of the house.

          Grandma Brush trotted to one of the small corrals, swinging open the gate.

          Timmons carried Vin to the full trough and, using his boot heel, broke through the thin layer of ice that had built up on the surface of the water, then lowered the unconscious man into the frigid liquid.

          Vin whimpered and struggled weakly.

          Chris lunged forward, but Grandma Brush caught his arm.  "Let him work, son.  He's the only chance Vin has."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Vin fought viciously as he felt himself being drawn closer to a greater pain.  Agony closed in around him like he was drowning and he clawed for the place he'd been in moments before – a place where there was no pain, no horror – but he was unable to stop the demanding pull that kept sucking him down into pure agony.

          Finally, unable to fight any longer, he surrendered, falling back into the blinding torture of his own body.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Larabee stood, watching as Vin's chest arched so far back it looked like he might break in half.  He froze there for a moment, then went completely limp.

          "He dies and so help me, I'll kill 'em both," Chris swore through gritted teeth.

          Grandma Brush met his gaze and shook her head.  "No, you won't, son.  You're not a cold-blooded killer.  And you know that's not what Vin would want."

          He began to shake, his knees giving out and dropping him into the snow.  "Vin…" he moaned.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ice sliced through the fire that had burned within him, hot and cold warring for his soul.  Vin couldn't tell how long the battle lasted, only that strong arms were finally lifting him out of his own private hell.  Had God changed his mind?  Had he been saved from the Devil after all?

          He managed to get his eyes open long enough to see an older man lowering him onto a bed.  The pale red hair and dark shirt shifted under the tracker's unfocused vision.

          "C-Chris?" he managed to gasp out.

          "Easy, boy," Timmons said as he gently laid Tanner down.  The bounty hunter pulled the quilts up and sighed heavily.  "I don't know if that broke the fever, but at least we lowered it for the time being."

          Larabee roughly shoved the man out of the way, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching out to cup Tanner's icy face in his palm.  "Vin?"

          The tracker's eyes fluttered weakly open again and he slowly focused on Chris.  "Guess I… ain't dead… yet… huh?"

          "No," Chris said, his throat tightening as his eyes filled with tears.  "And you're not gonna die, either.  You hear me?"  _You can't.  I can't do this again.  I can't lose you, Vin.  Please…  I can't._

          "I… hear ya," the tracker breathed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chris sat on the bed, watching Vin while he slept.  The fever, now back to a manageable level, had finally allowed the tracker to rest.

          Timmons stood by the fireplace in the bedroom, staring into the flames.

          "Why?" Larabee asked quietly, without turning to face the man.

          "Why what?"

          "Why save his life now?  You've been trying to kill him for a week."

          Timmons hesitated, then cleared his throat and walked over to sit in the rocking chair.  He draped one booted foot over his knee and began to rock.  "Believe it or not, Mr. Larabee, six years ago I was just an ordinary doctor, working in Denver," he began.

          Chris reached out, resting his hand on Vin's arm and gently rubbing up and down, needing the contact to keep his mind from spinning out of control with the fear and worry that lurked just beyond his fragile control.

          "My wife had died two years earlier, but we had a son, Able.  He was my world.  I was so proud of that boy…"  Timmons sighed, placing both feet on the floor and leaning forward, his elbows now on his knees.  "He was about Tanner's age – early twenties – and he'd been back east for a while, studying medicine.  He was coming to visit me…  The train he was on was held up.  He was killed trying to stop one of the robbers from soiling a young woman…  She died a few days later as well."

          Chris remained silent, considering the man's words even though he really didn't want to.  He wanted to kill the man where he sat for all the pain he'd caused Vin.

          "I went…  I went crazy after that… started to drink.  I eventually lost my practice… my friends.  I hated any man I thought might have been the one who had killed Able.  I hated outlaws, all outlaws – murderers, rapists, train robbers, gunfighters…  I thought I could avenge my son's death by killing the men who might have been responsible for his death, so I started to hunt."

          Larabee removed the damp cloth from Vin's forehead and placed it in the bowl of water.  He turned on the bed to face Timmons.  "Vin never murdered anyone.  What I told you is the truth.  Eli Joe – ever heard of him? – killed Jess Kincaid and pinned it on Vin to throw him off his trail."

          "Yes, I've heard of Eli Joe," Timmons acknowledged, studying Larabee's eyes. "And I believe he's the kind of man who would do exactly what you said he did.  But you have to understand, I couldn't allow myself to think about the men I hunted as human beings.  I'd dedicated my life to helping men, not hurting them.  I didn't come by it naturally, but I surrounded myself with others who did… others who hated more than I did…  And I let their hate poison me."  He stood and walked over so he could look down at Vin.  "When I saw him lying there earlier, all I could see was Able…  And I knew then that I was wrong."

          "Wrong?"

          "I'd assumed…  I'd refused to think that anyone else could have honor… kindness."

          "We're not outlaws," Chris said simply.  "Not saints either.  And I still don't like you, Timmons, but I do thank you for saving his life.  I owe you for that much."

          The man smiled thinly.  "I don't blame you, Mr. Larabee.  I don't like myself much right now either."  He turned and headed for the kitchen.  "It isn't over yet," he said from the doorway.  "Toad will come back to look for Dog.  They won't let five hundred dollars ride away – guilty or not."

          Chris turned back to Vin.  "We'll handle it."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          There was a warm hand on his shoulder, and it was moving, rubbing the tension out of his aching muscles, sore from the fever and the bad dreams that had been haunting him.

          "C-Chris?" he called weakly.

          "Right here, pard," was the soft reply, and Vin felt the press of Larabee's forehead against his own.  It sent a shiver of warmth racing through his body, chasing some of the pain away.  He wasn't alone.  Chris was there.

          Just knowing that was true made his eyes fill.  The tracker forced his heavy eyelids open and looked up at his friend, tears rolling down the sides of his temples. Chris was there.

          Larabee pulled back so he could look down at him, and Vin realized for the first time just how beautiful the man was.  He smiled weakly at the expression the man wore.  "Hell, Chris… way yer… lookin' at me… might as well be that… Lazarus fella Josiah talks 'bout."

          "Might as well be," Larabee agreed.  "You rose from the dead yourself."

          "How long?"

          "Going on four days."

          "Since I… got shot?"

          "No," Chris said softly, his gaze dropping, "since you almost died.  Timmons got your fever down, and it finally broke last night."

          The tracker's eyes widened.  "Timmons?"

          "Seems he's changed his mind about you."

          Vin looked dubious.

          "Don't worry, I'm keepin' an eye on him, just in case he has another change of heart," Larabee assured him, anger and something else flashing through the man's eyes.  "One of Mrs. Brush's daughters went to town and sent a telegraph to Four Corners.  The others are on their way."

          Grandma Brush appeared over Chris's shoulder, smiling down at the tracker. "Welcome back, son."

          "'Preciate… all y'… done," he told her.

          She reached out and tenderly patted his cheek.  "Go on back to sleep, Vin.  You need to rest.  You're going to be just fine."

          Tanner nodded, then looked back at Chris, asking a little sheepishly, "Y' gonna be here?"

          Larabee nodded, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth.  _For a long, long time, pard_.  He reached up, stroking back the tracker's lank chestnut hair.  "I'll be right here.  You sleep."

          Nodding once and closing his eyes, Vin slipped back to the healing embrace of sleep.

          "Never seen a man trust someone so much," the older woman said.

          "It's mutual," Chris replied simply.

          "That's a gift, son.  Treasure it."

          _I do_ , he thought.  _More than I ever imagined_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Vin lay in bed, listening to the rhythmic ring of an axe meeting wood.  He knew Chris was outside, increasing Grandma Brush's winter woodpile.  Three days had passed since his fever had broken and he was finally getting restless.  He wanted to be out there, watching Chris, even if he wasn't up to helping him just yet.  Seemed like he couldn't get enough of that the past few days, why, just being able to lie there and watch the man made his heart feel like it was full to bursting.

          He wasn't sure what had come over him, and he didn't really care.  He just wanted to be with Chris.  To hear him talk, to feel his presence close by, to enjoy the comfort of his touch as he helped him to sit up, or use the chamber pot.

          Hell, he ought to have been ashamed by that particular need, but he wasn't. He knew Chris didn't care, he just wanted to help, to make it easier for him.  And, Vin knew, if things had been reversed, he'd have felt the same.

          But that couldn't be said of anyone else.

          No, what he and Larabee shared, it was… special.  One of a kind.  At least he thought it was.  Surely Chris would have felt the same about his wife, and his son.  So maybe it was just the way family felt.  He'd have helped any of the others, if they'd needed him.  But it still felt different with Chris.

          He had brothers now, five of them, and he knew it, but what did that make Larabee?  What meant more than a brother?  Family?

          A wife, maybe?  But Chris was no wife.

          A child?  Perhaps, but he didn't feel like Chris looked at him like a son, and he sure as hell didn't see Larabee as a father.  Josiah, sometimes, but never Chris.

          It made no sense.  There was nothing else.

          There were Indian words, but he didn't think they would work for a white man.  Still, he kept pondering, trying to find a way to explain it, but it remained just outside the reach of his understanding…

          He sighed and wished Chris would finish and come back inside.  Grandma Brush's husband, sons, and grandsons were home now, and there had been names and faces to put together for a couple of days, but he'd gotten them all straight.  Lani had been the easiest one.  He sighed and closed his eyes.  Now _there_ was a reason to consider settling down and becoming a farmer.

          Twenty-two, with long chestnut hair, gray eyes and a wild streak that Vin found irresistible, she had captured his attention immediately.  Lani was a rebel, riding with her brothers, roping, shooting and generally upsetting the natural order of things wherever she went, including the kitchen.

          Vin grinned; a reason indeed.  But even she paled by comparison when Chris was in the room.  Besides, she was already spoken for and he silently wished her husband the best of luck; he was definitely going to need all he could get.

          Things were good here, he thought.  It was the kind of community the folks in Four Corners were trying to build.  And, given time, it was the kind of community they would eventually have.  He wasn't sure he'd feel like he belonged there any more when that came to pass, but he knew he'd be happy for them if they were able to see their dreams come true.

          He was getting soft.  Hell, he'd even been glad when he'd heard that Timmons had decided to stay on after his men had been escorted out of the Territory.  With Doc Harbor still gone, the former bounty hunter had taken it upon himself to act as Paradise's resident physician until the man returned.  And he'd been kept busy, too, delivering two babies, setting a broken leg and treating a bruised skull when Mrs. Peters applied her skillet to Mr. Peters' head.

          The hypnotic ring of the ax stopped and Vin opened his eyes, listening while Chris exchanged a few words with someone.  Then the sound of boots echoed thorough the house and Vin felt his heart swell at the thought of Chris coming to join him.  But it was Timmons who entered the bedroom.

          "Mornin'," the tracker greeted, still a little wary of the man.

          "Morning," Timmons returned, walking over to stand next to the fireplace.  Pulling off his riding gloves, he thrust his hands closer to the flames to warm them. "It's coolin' off a bit."

          Vin's brow furrowed.  "Been coolin' off fer some time now.  Y' come out here just t' tell me 'bout the weather?"

          Timmons shook his head.  "I've been watching the comings and goings in town," he said, his back still turned.

          "And?"

          "I think Dog and Toad are back."  He crossed to the rocker and sank down into it.  "Your friends should be here in a couple of days.  You might want to think about leaving as soon as you can."

          Vin nodded.  "Already planned on it."

          The big man looked away for a moment, collecting his thoughts, then he looked back at Tanner.  "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about what happened," he added.  "You and your friend… you've given me back my life.  Isn't really a way to thank a man for that."

          "Y' did that yerself," Vin replied.  "'M sorry 'bout yer son, too.  Jist hope I c'n clear m' name one day."

          "I'd be happy to help you track Eli Joe down, if you want."

          "He's dead," Vin said flatly.

          "Damn," Timmons said.  "That's going to make it a mite harder to clear yourself."

          "Yep.  Been tryin' t' find Eli Joe's half-brother, Zeb Harper.  He and his two cousin's rode with 'im.  They must've been with 'im when he killed that farmer.  If I c'n find 'em, maybe I c'n still clear m' name."

          "I'll see what I can find out for you.  It's the least I can do, given the circumstances.  And I honestly would like to make this up to you in some small way, if I can."

          "Obliged," Vin replied.  "Y' know where t' find me."

          Timmons nodded.  "Four Corners.  I might even deliver the news in person, if I can find out anything."

          Vin thought for a moment, then asked, "Y' mean what y' said?  Y' really want t' make this up t' me?"

          "Yes, I do," Timmons replied sincerely.

          "Got a friend in Four Corners, he's a healer, but he's got a lotta questions only a real doctor c'n answer.  Y' spend some time with him, answer his questions, show him what he needs t' know, an' that'll square us."

          Timmons' eyes rounded slightly.  It was such a simple request, but it obviously meant a lot to Tanner.  "I'd be happy to do that.  Certainly," he said.  "In fact, I'll ride back with you, if you'd like."

          "Guess that depends on if y' c'n get away.  These folks already come t' depend on ya."

          Timmons nodded.  "I think I might come back here.  It's a fine community, and they need a doctor here year 'round, but I want to set things right between us, too.  I need to, Vin."

          "Then yer welcome t' ride along."

          Timmons stood and stepped up to the side of the bed.  Sticking out his hand, he was grateful when the tracker didn't hesitate to take it.  "Thank you, Vin."

          The tracker offered him a small grin.  "Hell, I'll get m' revenge after all.  Y' got no idea how many questions Nathan c'n come up with."

          Tanner looked past Timmons as Chris came into the room carrying two cups of coffee.  Timmons gave Vin and nod and headed out.

          Chris sat down on the edge of the bed and handed Vin one of the cups.  "How you feeling today?"

          "Like I'm gonna go stir crazy if'n I can't get up out 'a this bed."

          Larabee smiled.  "Fine, but you're only going as far as the rockin' chair, or maybe the kitchen if you're hungry."

          Vin glowered up at the man, but he didn't argue.  It felt too good, just having the man sitting there beside him.  Without realizing it, he reached out with his free hand, resting it on Larabee's leg, the contact making both of them feel better.

          Chris leaned back against the headboard, his shoulder pressed up against Tanner's, and sipped on his coffee.

          "Timmons' says the weather's takin' a turn."

          Larabee nodded.  "Figure it's probably gonna snow tonight."

          "That's gonna slow the boys down some."

          Another nod.  "Ain't like we have someplace we've gotta be."

          Vin allowed himself to lean into Chris, resting his head against the man's arm. "Think maybe y' could read some more 'a that book?"

          Chris smiled down at him.  "Thought you wanted to get out of that bed?"

          _Not when yer sittin' here like this.  I'll stay in bed all the damn day._   "Maybe later."

          Reaching over to set his coffee down and grab the book off the bedside table, he opened it to where he'd stopped yesterday and began to read again.

          Beside him, Vin closed his eyes and, still holding on to Chris's leg, allowed the words to spin pictures in his mind while he listened to the sound of the voice he'd come to cherish above all others.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A few days later, Chris and Vin said goodbye to Grandma Brush and her family, climbed onto their horses, and turned them toward home.  Buck and Josiah were there to escort them, keeping a close watch for the two brothers.

          Al Timmons also rode along with them as well, but he had promised Mrs. Brush that he'd be back as soon as he'd spent some time with Vin's friend, answering whatever questions he might have.

          That first night on the trail they stopped in small stand of trees, the ground beneath them mostly free of snow.  Timmons had Vin lay down so he could check his wounds, but they were both still healing well, the ride apparently doing no damage to the man.

          "You feel all right?" the physician asked him.

          Vin nodded.  "Feel fine, Doc."

          Timmons nodded with satisfaction and smiled.  "Looks like you'll be able to make this trip just fine – we keep it slow and easy."

          The tracker grinned.  "Could 'a told y' that, saved y' all this work, if y'd asked."

          The older man smiled and shook his head.  "I look forward to meeting another one of your interesting friends."  And with that he moved off to lay out his bedroll.

          Josiah continued to work near the fire he'd built, fixing supper for them while Chris tended to the horses.

          Vin leaned back against his saddle, which was propped up against a fallen tree trunk and allowed himself to enjoy the crisp night air, the stars, and the warmth of the fire and the good friends around him.  All in all, he was glad to be alive, still slightly giddy about it, if the truth be told.  He looked up when Buck approached through the trees and sat down next to him on the fallen trunk.

          "No signs of anyone doggin' us.  How're ya feelin', stud?" Wilmington asked him.

          "Good," Vin replied softly, hoping Buck didn't plan to look him over the way Timmons had; he might just have to hurt the ladies' man if _he_ tried.

          "I, uh…  Well, I just wanted ta tell ya…"  Buck trailed off, glancing around to ensure that they were alone and he wouldn't be overheard.  He dropped his voice as he continued.  "I just wanted to say I was glad ya pulled through this, Vin.  Hear it was pretty bad there for a while."

          Vin's eyes rounded slightly.  "Reckon so," he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching.  "Hell, Bucklin, didn't know y' cared so much…"

          Buck started to reply, but blushed fiercely.  He glanced away, cursing softly under his breath.  When he looked back he was grinning with honest amusement.  "I meant I'm glad for Chris's sake," he clarified.  "I'd hate for him to lose someone else he cares about."

          "Think he might be stronger 'n you're sayin'."

          "Maybe," Buck agreed.  "But I saw what he was like after Sarah and Adam died, and I know he thinks on you like family.  No man should have to lose that much in his life, so I'm real glad you're too damned ornery ta die, Vin Tanner.  And next time?  Be a little more careful, will ya?"

          Vin dipped his head, his own cheeks coloring.  "Yeah, I'll do that."

          "I'd appreciate it."  And with that Buck stood and patted Vin's shoulder with brotherly affection, then he walked over to join Josiah at the fire.

          "Hey, Chris!" Wilmington called.  "It's suppertime!"

          "Comin'," was the man's reply.

          Vin watched Larabee step into the circle of light cast by the fire, the gunslinger's gaze immediately seeking him out.  That sent a thrill of some kind coursing through Tanner's blood, making his heart beat just a little quicker.

          Chris flashed the tracker a half-worried, half-questioning look and Vin nodded in reply, letting the man know that he was well.  He watched as Larabee immediately relaxed.

          _Family…  That's got a nice ring t' it_ , the tracker thought as he carefully pushed himself up and walked over to join the others around the fire.  _But it's more 'n that, when it comes t' Chris.  Hell if I know what, though._

          Chris made a space for him to sit down and Vin did, accepting a plate from Josiah and digging in as soon as he was settled.

          Later, as the men made ready to bed down, Chris opened his bedroll and laid it out down next to Vin's.  _He's plannin' t' keep me warm_ , the tracker thought, when he saw he'd be sleeping between the fire and Larabee.

          The four healthy men would also be taking turns, standing watch during the night just in case Dog and Toad were trailing them, but Vin had a feeling the brothers were already gone.  They had no desire to take on five armed men, head to head, not even for five hundred dollars.

          "You still feeling all right?" Chris asked him.

          "Yup," Vin replied, finding a reasonably comfortable position.  He listened to Chris making ready, and then felt the man's presence behind him.  More than anything he wished he could shift back and press his back up against Larabee's chest, to feel the man's arm circle around him, holding him close.  He never felt safer than when he was being held in those arms… never felt more loved, either.

          Maybe there was a touch of father and son in their relationship after all.  But he dismissed that thought immediately.  It was more like what he suspected Chris felt when he'd pulled Sarah close…

          Tanner's eyes blinked open with surprise.  Chris had scooted closer, his body in the same position as Vin's own, close, but not touching.  So close…

          Vin shifted under his blankets, inching closer to the man, their bodies touching slightly in a few places, separated by the blankets between them.  _It's just fer the warmth_ , he told himself, but he knew it was a lie.  He just wanted to be as close to Chris as he could possibly get.

          "You cold?" Larabee asked him quietly.

          "Reckon a little," he replied and felt the man behind him move.  A moment later a burst of cold air rushed in under his blankets as they were lifted up.  He gasped softly.  The blankets were lowered again, heavier now that Larabee's had been added to his own, and Chris settled in behind him, his body spooning up against his, warmth reaching him even through the man's clothes.  He shivered in delight.

          "You'll warm up in no time," Chris assured him, his arm slipping over Tanner's chest to pull the man in tighter.  "Get some sleep."

          Vin could only nod, too lost in the joy of being held to speak.  He snuggled into the warmth and the embrace, feeling light and safe and happy.  He sighed deeply, his body relaxing.  He'd give damn near anything to be able to fall asleep like this every night.  Hell, it was no wonder Buck found his way into some woman's bed nearly every night, not if it felt like this…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chris heard the deep sigh and felt Tanner's muscles go slack as he drifted into sleep.

          God it felt good, holding him like this.  The rise and fall of his chest reassured him that the tracker lived, that he really had survived.  He closed his eyes, letting the sounds of Tanner's soft breaths lull him closer to sleep.  His thumb stroked back and forth across the soft material of Vin's shirt.

          He didn't understand why this felt so good to him, so right.  But it did, and for right now, that was all that mattered.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It took several more days before they finally reached the trail into Four Corners.  They had traveled slowly, Timmons making sure Vin took several breaks each day to rest and to eat.  And, each night, Chris had slept with him, holding him close and keeping him warm, even after they had left the snows behind them.  The desert was still cold at night this time of year, and Larabee had said he didn't want to take any chances of Vin catching a chill.  Vin didn't care, it was a reason for Chris to keep sharing blankets his with the tracker.  And no one seemed to think it strange either.  But then Vin was thin, and still a little pale.  He was weak, too, even if he wouldn't admit it.  He tired too quickly and had to eat several times a day to keep up what strength he did have.

          When they reached the fork in the trail that lead to his cabin, Chris pulled up, saying, "Vin's lookin' worse; I'm gonna take him to the cabin.  Have Nathan come out tomorrow to look him over."

          "Good idea," Timmons said.  "He is looking a little too pale for my liking."

          "Feel fine, boys," the tracker grumbled.  "An' m' ears are workin' like usual."

          "I'll ride out with Nathan tomorrow," Timmons said, ignoring Tanner's remarks.

          Chris nodded.  "Appreciate it, Doc."

          "You want one of us to come along, too?" Buck asked the gunslinger.

          Larabee shook his head.  "If they haven't tried by now, they're not going to."

          "I'd still feel better if one of us stayed with you tonight," Josiah replied.  "I'll go and bunk down in the barn, just in case."

          Chris thought for a moment and then he nodded.  "Suit yourself."

          The men split up, Buck taking Timmons on into town, Chris, Vin and Josiah heading for the small cabin.

          Before they had gotten too far, a light drizzle began to fall.

          "Damn it," Larabee breathed, glancing over at Vin, who was hunched up inside his hide coat, trying to stay as dry as possible.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When they arrived at Chris's cabin, Josiah and Larabee made a careful search to ensure that the brothers hadn't followed them, or somehow found the cabin on their own.  When they were satisfied that there was no threat, they helped Vin off his horse and into the cabin.

          "Get out of those damp clothes," Chris told the tracker, helping him with the hide coat.

          "I'll get him undressed," Josiah offered.  "You have something he can put on?"

          Larabee nodded and went over to a small chest of drawers, pulling out a spare pair of long johns, pants, and a dark red shirt that was the thickest he had.

          Vin took one look at the attire and shook his head.  "Just give be that wool blanket and I'll sit by the stove 'til m' clothes are dry."

          "There's nothing wrong with these clothes," Chris argued.

          Tanner grinned at him.  "Black ain't m' color, pard."

          Larabee snorted and shook his head.  "All right, but put the long johns on or you'll freeze your balls off."

          Vin accepted the long underwear and pulled them on.  Josiah draped the blanket around his shoulders and moved the rocker closer to the woodstove so he could sit.

          Vin rocked himself, watching while the other two men prepared a small meal, which they ate in companionable silence.  He caught himself nodding off a couple of times, but more of the strong coffee Josiah fixed seemed to help.

          As the pale winter light began to fade, Josiah stood and stretched.  "Think I'll go make up my bed while I can still see," he told them.

          "You're welcome to stay in here," Chris replied.  "Be a lot warmer."

          The big man shrugged.  "Warm enough in a pile of hay.  Besides, if we do get company, it might be nice if we could catch them between us."

          Larabee nodded.  "Appreciate it, Josiah."

          "Get him to bed before he falls asleep in that chair."

          Chris grinned when Vin flashed the big man a sleepy glare.  "He's right," he old the tracker, "you're damn near sound asleep right now, and I'm not going to get up in the middle of the night if tip that chair over, so get in to bed."

          Muttering under his breath, Vin pushed to his feet and shuffled off to Larabee's bed, transferring the blanket from his shoulder to the top of the ones already there and climbing in, hoping Chris would join him.  A few minutes later, the blond did just that, sliding in behind him and pulling him close, as had become their habit.

          "Mmm," Vin breathed, making himself comfortable in the warm embrace.

          "You feeling okay?" Chris whispered.

          "Yeah…"

          "Good.  Now, get some rest."

          Vin's eyes dropped closed and smiled faintly as he felt Chris's thumb begin to rub up and down on his chest.  He wished he wasn't the long johns, wondering what it might feel like to have the man touching his skin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Some time in the night Vin awoke.  He started to move, which woke Larabee as well.

          "Vin?  You all right?"

          "Just need to use the privy," the tracker said, easing from the bed and heading for the door.  He was back quickly, teeth chattering slightly as he crawled back into the bed.  Chris had rolled over, so he slid up behind the man, spooning against him and holding him the way Larabee had done for him.

          The blond moaned contentedly and wiggled back into Tanner's embrace.

          Vin grinned and rested his cheek against the man's shoulder.  His arm snaked over the blond's side, his hand pressed flat against the man's ribs, fingers curled slightly to fit the curve of Chris's side.  He closed his eyes, basking in the feel of holding the man.

          He had seen two men lying like this once before.  It had been a hot summer, and he was living among the Comanche.  It was after the war, after the hellish days in a prisoner of war camp.  He'd left that camp alone, without a place he needed or wanted to be.  He'd drifted, finally crossing trails with a tribe of Comanche he'd met when he'd been a child among the Kiowa.  Lucky for him, the old chief remembered him.

          He'd settled into their ways quickly and earned himself a Comanche name, Long Eyes, for his almost uncanny skills with a rifle.  It had taken some time, but he eventually been welcomed among the warriors.

          That night they'd been on the trail of some game, the heat of the day had finally given way to the coolness of night, and he'd welcomed his turn on guard.  But as he'd sat there, listening for their enemy, his eyes had been drawn to the two men who were lying spooned up together.  In the soft glow of the embers from their fire he could see Black Wing was aroused, even though he was sleeping.

          Something about that excited him, and he'd reached into his breechclout and stroked himself until he was a hard as the warrior.  He watched as a drop began to form at the tip.  It glowed orange and red from the light of the fire, and he realized that Heavy Hoof was awake as well.

          He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing there behind Black Wing, but he knew whatever it was, it must feel awful good, because the young man's cock was jerking of its own accord.  Heavy Hoof reached over the Black Wings body, his big hand closing around that twitching member…

          Vin moaned softly, remembering clearly how Heavy Hoof had spread the fluid that leaked from Black Wing's cock along the thick shaft so his hand could slide up and down the heated flesh.  And His hand had kept time with the warrior's as he pleasured himself as he watched.

          He could see Heavy Hoof humping against Black Wing's ass and realized that he must be grinding his cock against the other man's flesh.  After a few more moments, he heard Heavy Hoof grunt, his body jerking harder.  But then his attention was pulled back to Black Wing's cock and he watched as the man began to spill his seed, glowing spurts of it, shooting from the tip into the dirt beyond here they lay.  He had filled his breechclout with his own seed as he'd watched Black Wing spilling his.

          He had made it a point to travel with the two warriors after that, and he had seen them together several times as a result.  And, every time he had, he'd pleasured himself, wondering what it must feel like to them, to have someone to share themselves with like that.  It was so different than what he'd seen and experienced at the orphanage, or in the POW camp.  This was right and pure, beautiful and arousing to witness.  He longed to join them, but knew they saw no farther than one another.

          When the Army finally came, and Heavy Hoof and Black Wing had been killed, along with so many of the others, and he'd known he'd never see the likes of their relationship again.

          And he'd been right.  Oh, he'd seen what passed for mutual release among the buffalo hunters and the cowboys, but it wasn't the same.  It was furtive and quick, a fuck in the darkness to ease the ache in their balls.  There was none of the care, the attention the two warriors had showered upon each other.  There was none of the love.

          And he knew, now, that it was love.  It was the same love a man had for his wife.

          He sighed softly and pressed his cheek harder against Chris's shoulder, his own balls aching with want and need for the gunslinger.  But it wasn't the white man's way.  To them it was a sin, something dirty and evil.  But he knew it didn't have to be.  He'd seen what it could be like.

          Damn.  Damn Timmon's to hell.  If it hadn't been for the man shooting him like he had, he wouldn't have come to know what it felt like to be held in Larabee's arms.  He wouldn't know the joy of feeling the tickle of the man's breath on the back of his neck, or tingle that spread through his body when the man's thumb stroked up and down on his chest, sometimes grazing his hard, nipple.

          He was a fool if he thought he could share the kind of love Heavy Hoof and Black Wing shared all those years ago.  A damn fool, and that hurt worse than those bullets had when they'd pierced his flesh.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Awareness returned gradually, like the first soft glow of a sunrise giving way to fingers of gold and pink.  He felt warm, and safe, and… happy.  How long had it been since he'd been happy?  Since that day when the sight of his burned out homestead had opened a pit inside his heart that had nearly pulled him into the blackness…

          Too long.  Far too long.

          Slowly he became aware of Vin, pressed up behind him, holding him like he had been holding the tracker so many times in recent nights.  He hadn't realized how good it might feel, to be held like that and he hoped that Tanner had enjoyed it, at least half as much as he was right now.

          Somehow he'd always thought of Vin as smaller then he was, but that really wasn't true.  They were almost a matched team in height and build, but those too big clothes the tracker wore hide that fact, made him seem slighter.  But now he could feel the muscle under the man's skin, even through the pair of long underwear.  They were a perfect fit.  He'd thought so the very first time he'd held the man.

          He could feel the soft brush of Vin's breath against his shoulder, each one warming the material of his long johns slightly.  He could feel the slight poke of the man's whiskers though the material where his cheek was pressed against his shoulder blade.  They both needed a shave.

          The possessive curl of the tracker's fingers along his side surprised him and the sudden image of Vin holding some saloon whore the same way sent a bolt of jealously through him.  He didn't want the tracker holding anyone but him.

          He marveled at how well he fit inside the curve of the man.  His breath caught.  _Oh God_ , he thought, realizing what that fullness pressed against his ass meant.

          He focused on that, nothing the length and girth, and wondering if it might not grow even larger if fully aroused.  But even piss proud it was impressive.

          Their feet were entwined, one of his caught between Vin's.

          He heard the tracker moan softly, and his hand began to move, rubbing along his ribs.  His own member began to stir, slowly swelling as the tracker's hand kneaded his flesh.  If only it was a little lower, the man's fingers curled around his flesh…

          The thought startled him.  But not nearly as much as the sudden realization that Vin was crying, the warm tears soaking into the material of his long johns.  Why would the man be crying?

          "Vin?" he called softy and felt the tracker jerk with surprise and quickly pull away, rolling onto his side so they were back to back.

          Chris frowned and carefully maneuvered himself around so he was pressed up behind Vin, holding him as Tanner had just been holding him.  "Vin, what's wrong?  Are you in pain?"

          There was a short, derisive snort.  "Ain't nothin'."

          _Like hell_ , he thought.  "Vin, tell me what's wrong.  I'll send Josiah to town for Nathan and the doc–"

          "No," Tanner yelped, but the word came up sounded strangled, like the man's throat was too tight for him to speak.

          "Then tell me what's wrong."

          "Dream," Vin ground out, "just a damn dream."

          Larabee pushed himself up onto his elbow so he could look down at Tanner's face, but the long curly hair hid his expression.  "Dream about what?"

          "Don't matter," was the whispered reply.  "'S a long time ago… 'nother life."

          He wasn't sure he believed the man, but Chris settled down behind him again and pulled him close.  "C'mere," he said, trying to get the tracker to relax against him.

          "Reckon we better be gettin' up."

          "Like hell," Larabee growled.  "Got a good two hours before the sun's up."

          Tanner mumbled something in reply, but Chris wasn't paying any attention to that.  He was focused on his body and how he was responding to feel of his cock pressed us against the crack of his best friend's ass.  It felt good, right…

          He felt Vin try and wiggle away from that touch, heard the man's soft, aching groan, too.  So he pressed himself against the tracker's ass.

          There was a soft hiss, followed by, "What the hell d'ya think yer doin', Lar'bee?"

          "What you wanted me to do," he ventured in reply, his heart suddenly racing. If he was wrong…

          A softly uttered curse was his reply.

          "Vin?" he questioned.  "That is what you wanted me to do, isn't it?"

          Another curse, this one louder and more vehement.  "What the hell d'ya want me t' say?"

          "Tell me the truth," he replied, his hand beginning to rub up and down the tracker's chest.

          "Ain't right," he choked out.  "Ain't proper fer white men."

          "Never been called proper," he said a little airily as his fingertips found the hard nub of Tanner's nipple.  He rubbed over it several times, listening to the hitch it caused in Tanner's breath.  The man's body convulsed each time he flicked his thumb over the pebbly hard flesh and he felt his own arousal grow, filling his cock.

          "You feel me?" he whispered into Tanner's ear.  "Might not be proper, but you do this to me."

          "Ain't right, Chris, not fer you."

          "But it is for you?" he asked, his hand dropping down, his fingers curling around the cloth-covered erection hidden inside Tanner's underwear.

          Vin gasped, then moaned softly, the sound as close to a whimper as Larabee figured a man could come.

          "Lived with the Indians," the tracker managed to rasp.  "Got different ways."

          "What kind of ways?" he asked, his fingers curling tighter on the swelling shaft.

          "Different way 'a livin'… an' lovin'."

          "Tell me," Larabee commanded, dipping his head to bury his face in the warm chestnut curls.

          Vin let go a long whine as he tried to still his hips, but they were pressing him more tightly into Larabee's grasp, trying to friction himself in that hot grasp.

          "Tell me," he repeated, nuzzling at the man's neck.  It was rough with whiskers, but he didn't care.  His tongue darted out and he licked the man's skin, wondering what he would taste like.

          A half-choked gasp was the response.  "Sometime the warriors… sometimes they'd lie with one 'nother," he rasped out.

          "Mmm," Larabee replied like that wasn't news to him.  He was grinding himself against Tanner's ass, mashing the spongy head of his cock against the strong muscles he felt contracting.

          "Chris," the tracker moaned, "y' gotta stop."

          "Don't wanta stop," he said, knowing it was true.  He knew too, somewhere, that folks would say this was wrong, but he just didn't care.  It felt good, right.  It felt more right than anything had since the day he'd discovered he was a widower.  And he'd come so close to losing Vin, to losing the one who filled up his world with meaning–

          He froze, but it was already too late.  The truth was right there, in his arms.  He loved Vin.  He loved the man just like he'd loved Sarah.  He wasn't sure how that was possible, but it was true and he couldn't deny it, not now, not ever.

          And with that knowledge, that understanding of what lie between them, he let go of the fear and the pain that had haunted him for so long.  He found that part of himself that loved, a part he had been sure had died the same day as Sarah and Adam.  But it hadn't died.  It had only been buried under the weight of guilt and grief that had nearly smothered the life right out of him.

          Until the day he'd seen Vin for the first time.  He'd never forget that day, that moment, when their eyes met for the first time.  It had felt like he'd found some missing part of his soul.  It had confused him at first, but there hadn't been a lot time to think about it.  Not until they'd been sitting on that ridge, Tanner telling him about the bounty on his head.  And he'd pushed it away, letting himself get lost in the blue of the man's eyes, the soft, raspy sound of his voice…  He'd known that day he couldn't lose what he'd found.  He couldn't let Tanner go back to Tascosa alone.  He'd ride with him, take whatever time the good Lord gave them, and count himself luck to have had that.

          But now he knew there was so much more then could be sharing.  So much more he wanted to share with the man – life, home… love.

          He wasn't sure how to love the man, but he knew they'd find a way.  His hand had found its way inside the long johns, his fingers curing around the man's hard shaft, moving up and down over the velvety soft skin.  Vin was leaking, making it easier for him to slide his hand over the man's flesh.  And he ground himself harder against the tracker's ass, lost in the pleasures he felt.

          "Chris!" Tanner gasped, his body beginning to quake.

          And as the first rush of Tanner's seed spilled over his fingers Chris felt his own cock begin to erupt, soaking the material of his underwear.

          They grunted and jerked, moaned and whimpered, gasped and panted, waiting to catch their breaths as their bodies spiraled back from whatever paradise they had found.

          They held on to one another, touching and stroking… loving in the lingering afterglow of their mutual release.

          Long johns were removed and they explored each other, Larabee initiating the first kiss, nearly coming again when he tasted the tracker's mouth.  They moved in unison, no words passing between them, each knowing what the other needed somehow.

          They came again, together, carried to the edge and beyond by nothing more than each other's touch.

          But this time, as they lay together, they each knew this would be how it was from now on.  There would be no turning back.

          "Won't be easy," Vin whispered softly as the cabin began to fill with the gray light of dawn.

          "Nothing really is."

          "'Cept this," Tanner replied, reaching down to cup Chris's flaccid cock.

          "Except love," Larabee corrected him, his voice thick with emotions he never thought to feel again.  "Loving Sarah… loving you… hell, that's the easiest thing I've ever done."

          Vin smiled at the words and snuggled closer to the man.  "Easy as lickin' butter off a knife," he agreed.

          Easy or hard, it didn't matter.  They were together, and together they could accomplish anything, of that they were both sure.

 

 

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